


Angels

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:00:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21562606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: A moment of Spock’s madness.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 7
Kudos: 79





	Angels

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It assaults his mind even in sleep, to the point where he can’t tell if he’s pacing in a dream or the caves of his ancestral home. He traces on the walls and floor and the inside of his skin the images that race through him, and he fervently repeats words that he heard long ago describing his condition. He tries to cling to logic, because that’s the only thing that’s ever kept him safe. But it eludes him now, hovering always just out of reach. 

Spock slumps to the floor and feels the hard rock pressing into his knees. His body’s heavy, sagging, but an unimportant speck in a much larger cosmos. Pictures race through his mind, some of his own doing: glimpses of a little girl in a white-blue dress following a rabbit. The other things he doesn’t recognize. He sees a world he doesn’t know: planets that he recognizes but wiped clean and empty, barren where there should be life. He doesn’t know if it’s another universe or another future, but it’s another _something_ , and he knows that it’s vital. He doesn’t know _why_. He can’t fathom it. Alternate realities loop over top of each other—a thousand different ways to stop a battle, none that work, it’s incredibly important that he understand, but he _doesn’t_. His body shakes with a thunderous sob. He feels like he’s going mad. He won’t make it much longer. 

He feels arms around him, even though he knows that he’s alone. At first, he thinks it’s his mother, but the arms are thicker, stronger, the fingers shorter and broader, the nails blunted. He’s pulled back against a man’s golden chest. The uniform is new but familiar. Spock turns to the see the handsome face of his saviour. 

Spock breaks. He’s so proud of his progress, of how _Vulcan_ he’s become, but he knows this man has seen him vulnerable a hundred times, and it feels _right_ to surrender to his warm embrace. That warmth blankets Spock, protects him. The man is charming and so grounded, possessing a torrent of _emotions_ but a staunch inner strength that Spock admires. He would follow this man anywhere. The man runs gentle fingers through his hair and whispers silly human anecdotes that should be no defense against the raging tide. 

But it works. For that brief moment, Spock has peace. The apparition soothes him, and for the barest flicker of a second, Spock is sure that he’s seeing his own future. 

Then the angel of death rips it all away, and Spock’s babbling again, alone.


End file.
